Sunrise on Chicago
by Kasey Clark
Summary: The not-so happily ever-after ending, and the journey back to how the story's end came to be.
1. Chapter 1

Mom did it again

Mom did it again.

I got the call in the early afternoon, while I sat lounging on the sofa, staring at the cracks in the walls. Mrs. Debbie, with her unnaturally hair arms and lazy eye, was on the other end of the phone, yelling demands that I pick my mother up or she'd call an ambulance.

Trying my best to calm the old woman down, I grabbed the nearest pair of shoes and my father's car keys and headed out the door.

The spells were occurring more and more often in these summer months. Normally, she'd go months without any outburst, then the summer hit and, like a trigger, the fainting started up again.

Anything could set her off. Scenery was a big prompter. Anything with too much color or too much space. Music held the occasional bout of dizziness as well. But lately it was books that did the trick. Which was a tad ironic in my opinion, seeing as my mother worked at the local library for a living.

Dad didn't seem to be noticing the fainting as much I thought he should. Granted, he was a busy man. Working as the chief executive for GMC contained its fair share of stress.

Turning onto the main road, I allowed the family's extra SUV to increase speed and catch up with the flow of traffic. Despite the fact that two months had passed since my sixteenth birthday, I was still the last among my friends to get my license. Not by choice, of course. My mother had an irrational fear of driving. She believed slick roads led to hydroplaning, nighttime led to drunk drivers, and speeding led to fatal accidents. She had convinced – more like demanded – that I wait until I was seventeen to start driving. And my mom's decisions were law in our household. It was quite rare to see my dad holding the pants in their relationship.

I eased the vehicle into a handicapped parking spot. Abiding by the law was never one of my attributes.

"There you are," croaked Mrs. Debbie from behind the check-out desk. The library's cool air conditioning hit me like a tidal wave as I walked through the front entrance. Although I'd always lived in Chicago, known for its harsh winters, I never could seem to find a place cold enough to suit my interests.

I rolled my eyes at the old woman. "Where is she?"

"We laid her out on the conference table. She just came to a few moments ago."

Throwing Mrs. Debbie one of my fake smiles, I made my way over to my mother. She was leaning on one elbow, her graying hair disheveled, when I appeared.

"Hey, Mom. How's it going?" I reached out to assist her in her trys to sit up. Her face was paler than usual, and she had a far-off look in her eyes that unsettled me.

"Riley… Where am I?" I felt my mother's grip tighten as she looked about.

I let out a long sigh. I could remember the fainting spells almost as much as actual memories. It seemed like wherever we went, they temporary blackouts followed. Birthday parties, vacations, long walks…

The first one I can remember happened at my kindergarten graduation ceremony. I was so wound up for that day, I couldn't sleep for weeks. I went with my mom to pick out a new suit and my dad took me to get a haircut where old men sat in the chairs and prattled on about nothing. I had woken up at the first hint of sunlight that morning, rushing into my parent's room and waking them. When we got there, Ms. Alfred, my teacher, lined us all up by last name and instructed us on how to receive our little paper certificates when our names were called. I saw my parents from the stage in the very first row, eyes gleaming and smiles stretched out across their faces. I felt so proud to have my mom and dad sitting at the very front watching their only son on stage. When the first name was called, however, Mom made this gasping sound and the whole room grew quiet. I turned to look and saw my mom's eyes roll to the back of her head and her body fall out of her chair. Dad got all panicked and tried yelling for water. Then all the other parents were circling around her, trying to help my dad out. Nobody was paying attention to us kids, anymore. I discovered later that no one even really cared for that dumb ceremony, anyways.

All I know is that all through first grade I was known as the kid with the woozy mother. And poor Sam Anderson was blamed numerous times for being so ugly, he made grown women faint.

Refocusing on the present, I looked around me for any signs as to what did it this time.

"Riley, answer me, please."

"You're at work, Mom." I fixed my brown eyes on her green ones. She still looked a little lost, but I had long ago passed the point of caring.

"What do you mean, at work? It's Monday."

I stopped my search, frowning. "No, Mom, it's Thursday. And you work everyday, remember? Except Sundays. That's pizza night."

Something in my stomach began to twist in an unpleasant way. This was something new. Mom never lost her memory after fainting. Should I call Dad? Ask him if this had happened before? After all, I had only taken on Fainting Duty since the start of summer. Any other time it was pawned off on a friend or neighbor.

"Pizza night?"

"Yeah, you know, Dad comes home from work, he brings us home pizza from Tony's Diner. Any of that ringing a bell, Mom?"

"Mom?" The green eyes staring back at me began to get hazier with each passing minute.

"Uh, hello. Yes, 'Mom,' you know, the term given to someone when they birth a child. That child being me. The boy you've been calling Riley for the past two minutes."

Panic began to sweep through me. A thin line of sweat began to form on my upper lip and along my temples. That welcoming air conditioning was doing nothing now for my rising fear. It seemed as if every second my mother got worse and worse. She was slowly losing what little coherence she'd had when I first found her.

"Riley? Why, you're not Riley," my mother's lips frowned. "And where is Mrs. Newton, shouldn't she be here helping me?"

A hand clenched around my heart. That was the closest thing I could think of to resemble what I felt at the moment. My mother was beginning to examine her surroundings, acting surprised by what met her eyes. And I could do nothing but stand there, helpless. I didn't have a clue what to do. The woman who'd raised me, cared for me, taught me, for the past sixteen years was now denying my identity and throwing out random names.

I saw the realization hit her a second before she absorbed it. When she saw she was in a small room, with a heavy glass door leading out to rows and rows of books, the knowledge that she wasn't where she believed she was sunk in.

I tensed up, waiting anxiously to see what would happen next. My mom's eyes swiveled back and forth a few more times, then landed on mine again.

"Where am I?" her back stood stiff in panic. "Why are you here? Where's Mrs. Newton? You shouldn't be allowed in here!"

I stepped closer, trying to soothe this strange new person that had taken over my mother's body. Her voice was getting louder and louder and I feared a blood-curling scream would soon escape her mouth.

"Don't touch me! He'll kill you! Mrs. Newton? MRS. NEWTON!"

I had to cover my ears against the scream. Whoever this Mrs. Newton was, wherever she was, I wished she could walk through that door this second, if only to end that terrible sound.

Mrs. Debbie came instead, as I knew she would. She took a long look at my mother, the thick hair on her arms standing on end. I could see the accusation in her eyes as she took in the scene before her. I knew what she saw. A madwoman raving nonsense while her stupid and pig-headed son watched on, probably enjoying the mayhem he no doubt had caused.

"Help me, please," I ran forward. All sense of control had vanished with that horrible scream. Now I just wanted it to end. Everything. I wanted my old mom back. The one who left this morning complaining about my dishes in the sink. The one who refused to let me drive just to the grocery store to pick up a gallon of milk. I wanted my paranoid, regular mother back, and I'd go as far as pleading with old Mrs. Debbie to get it.

Taking me in, she saw that this was not just some humorous stunt I'd managed to pull off. She saw the fear in my eyes and, with sudden sincerity, she told me to call my father.

Right. Dad. He'd know what to do. He was perfect under pressure. He never lost his cool; he kept his patience and always reached a logical answer.

I was only half-aware of Mrs. Debbie trying to soothe my mom as I punched my speed dial and silently prayed Dad wasn't in a meeting.

One ring.

Two rings.

He answered on the third. I heard his deep voice resounding through the speaker, a little annoyed.

"Dad, something's wrong," my voice was full of panic.

"What is it, Son?"

It took me more effort than it should have to keep the phone steady against my ear. My face was in a full-out sweat now, and my stomach felt as if it was going to expel my breakfast. In my peripheral vision, I noticed a small crowd beginning to form along the Western section. I could guess that John Wayne stories was not what was attracting them. At any other time, I would have been annoyed at these snoops. But, at the moment, all I cared about what getting my dad here.

"Dad, it's Mom. She had another fainting spell at work. I rushed over here, but it all happened so fast, and I…" I couldn't find the right words. I knew my father was lost. I was trying to tell him everything at once and it was all coming out in the wrong way.

"Riley, I need you to slow down. What happened to Mom?"

"Dad, s-she's gone crazy!"

I inhaled sharply at my own words. I hadn't meant for the words to come out so blunt, but I'd opened my mouth and out they fell. I could tell when they hit my dad's ear by the way the line went silent. I wasn't sure if he was even breathing anymore.

"Dad?"

It seemed like an eternity before he replied.

"What do you mean, Riley?"

"She doesn't know where she's at, she doesn't even recognize me, and she keeps yelling out for some person named Mrs. Newton."

If I had thought calling my mother crazy shocked my dad, then telling him about Mrs. Newton was like taking a gun and shooting him in the chest. I heard him drop the phone, and in the background I could barely make out the sound of his knees buckling from underneath him. This act terrified me more than my mom's new insanity. Dad was supposed to be the strong one. He might let Mom make all the rules, but he kept the family attached. He had always been the moral support of the family, the mediator, the ray of sunshine on our rain clouds.

What was so critical about a name that could bring my father down to his knees? What had this person done?

"Riley, I will be right there. Don't move." My father's voice said. I had forgotten I was still on the line with him, but when he spoke, I replied with a weak agreement and hung up.

I could feel my heart beating in my chest as I made my way back to my mother. The noise had never sounded so clear before. It was as if I were aware of every pump of blood that pulsated through my body, soberly alert to my waking life.

"Mom," I whispered weakly. I couldn't believe how much had changed in a matter of twenty minutes. The calm, suburban life that I had grown so comfortable with had completely changed. Nothing about my life seemed steady anymore. My mother was spouting off people I'd never heard of before, my dad was overcome with horror, and I was stuck somewhere in the middle, utterly unaware of everything.

"I told you, you shouldn't be here! If he comes in here, he'll kill you! Don't you understand? You have to leave!"

I was unable to step any further. My mother was looking at me with an expression I'd never seen on her face before. Her eyes, so large, had filled with a terrifying concern for me.

"Who, Mom? Who'll kill me?"

My mom shook her head franticly. "Who do you think?"

"I don't know."

She gave me a long look, as if I were the one who were crazy. Then, with slow clarity, I saw my mother's mouth begin to form a name. At that exact second I realized what I'd done. It was as if an alarm had gone off in my head.

This was it. For some sickening reason, I knew that the second I heard my mother's answer, my life would never be the same again. That that one name was going to take my life and shake it from the inside out. That whatever I thought I knew about my parents and their lives was about to be questioned and challenged because of what was about to come out of my mother's mouth.

I felt like I was watching my own downfall. I held my breath as I saw my mom open her mouth to speak. And when she did, all that came out of it was one, simple word.

"Edward."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Just in case anyone was worried, I am both an Edward and a Jacob fan. I love both boys equally, and I promise that I will do both of them justice in my story. I know it will sound like I favor one over the other, I really don't. It's just how my story's playing out.**

* * *

The house was completely dark when I stepped through the front door. The night had somehow seeped past the windows and was now taking residence in my home. Closing the front door, I walked past the kitchen and into the small living room. It was hard for me to imagine that just a few short hours ago I had been sitting in the same room, a completely different person.

I knew I should reach out and turn on some of the lamps, but I was taking comfort in the darkness. I felt as if my surroundings were hiding from the world with me. It was easier not to have to think about what had happened – what was still happening – when I could not see my own two hands. Besides, I wasn't sure if I could handle looking at all my familiar surroundings. I knew that if I could see, I'd have to take in all of my mother's photographs, the ones with all three of us at the beach, our smiles wide and our eyes squinting against the harsh sunlight, and the large portrait of us at Christmastime, the one where Dad was wearing that ridiculous Christmas sweater, and I had two gaps in my mouth where my front teeth hadn't grown in yet.

I would see the furniture Mom had bought with Grandma three years ago, the same one that she had shown to Dad in all the magazines for months. And on one of the furniture pieces, I would see the light stain where Mom had spilled her coffee last week. Even if I looked down, I'd be forced to see the carpet Grandpa had given to my mom as a house-warming gift twenty years ago.

No, the darkness was better.

Letting out a long sigh, I collapsed onto the couch. I wanted to turn the television on, but knew it'd be a waste. I wasn't interested a late night sitcoms, I was just searching for something to distract my mind. I knew that if I let my mind wander, all the events from earlier today would steal into my head, causing me to relive the atrocity all over again.

Dad got to the library in five minutes. By that point, I had seated myself in the corner and covered my ears with my hands. Mom had begun weeping when she claimed I'd be 'killed' by the Edward dude. She kept trembling and shaking her head back and forth. I tried to hug her, but when I got closer she had shot up an arm and pushed me back.

When Dad walked into the room everything became worse. Mom looked up at him and let out a revolted yelp. Both of us, together, had to practically drag her to Dad's car. Once inside, we drove to St. Joseph's Hospital, where we had to wait twenty minutes for a nurse to recognize that something was seriously wrong with my mom.

This Abercrombie & Fitch model came brought all three of us into an examination room and introduced himself as Dr. Scott. Mom still hadn't stopped her crying, and the doctor gave her a sedative to relax her nerves.

Rubbing my eyes, I forced myself to stop thinking. Instead, I attempted to concentrate on the here and now. The time for dinner had passed hours ago, but there was no reason why I couldn't have a late snack. As if in answer to my thought, my stomach let out a low grumble.

All right. Food. That's a start. Maybe when I had something solid in me, I could figure out what to do next.

Finally, I flipped on the kitchen light. The brightness from the fluorescent kitchen lights caught me off-guard for a moment. I had to blink several times to get my eyes to adjust, but when I did, I saw something that stopped me in my tracks to the pantry.

One of our drawers was open. Not in the abside-minded way someone like my mother or me would have done, either. This was done unintentionally, as if the person had had to rush away.

Walking over, I tried to remember back to this morning. The only thing I had opened a drawer for was to grab a spoon. And the drawer for that was located on the opposite side of the kitchen, on a completely different countertop. I was the last person in the house, and I was sure I would have noticed an open drawer.

Peeking inside, I saw that it was the Contacts Drawer. The place my family kept the address book, the local delivery numbers, business cards, the occasional letters from distant friends… Nothing any of my family used on a day-to-day basis.

My fingers skimmed through the mess. Beaux's Beautiful Nails, Kim's Chinese, an extra one of Dad's GMC cards… All these things were thrown haphazardly in there, just as they were ten hours ago.

I was about to close the drawer, thinking it all a freak accident, when something in my head made me stop. Yes, all the dumb, castaway items were still there, but where was Mom's contact book? The small, black, leather planner with all her friend's numbers and email addresses. I took a closer look, yet the little book was not to be found. I knew it couldn't possibly be anywhere else. Mom and Dad rarely had company over, and if they did, it was just some of Dad's colleagues; I could never remember a time when anyone from that address book ever paid us a visit.

So why was it gone?

_Better yet,_ I thought. _Who took it?_

I considered calling Dad. If someone had broken into the house, he should know. But even as I thought about it, the conversation sounded absurd. How could anyone have broken in? There were no crashed windows, no open doors. And why, if they had bothered to enter the house with such precaution, had they left the television and entertainment center undisturbed and stolen off with Mom's planner?

I laughed at the situation. If I bothered Dad at the hospital with this, he'd just tell me my mind was over imagining things; that all the stress and exhaustion was taking a toll on my nerves.

Still, it was weird…

I glanced behind me, suddenly overcome with the feeling that I was being watched.

_Nerves_.

Abandoning my quest for food, I stole to my room. Between my mother and the planner-thief, I was overcome with weariness. Not bothering to undress, I sprawled out on my bed and almost instantly, I was asleep.

* * *

_Dad, what was Mom saying? Who's Edward? Why does she think he's going to kill me?_

_Don't worry about that. Something bad's happened to your mother, and she's saying things she doesn't mean._

_But who are these people?!_

_They're nobody._

_They've got to be somebody! How does Mom know them? _

_Riley, please! I can't handle your mother and you at the same time. Now, why don't you go home and get some sleep. I'm going to stay here with your mother while they continue to test her._

_I want to be with her, too._

_Son, I need you at home right now. You can come back first thing tomorrow morning._

* * *

Sweating, I sat straight up in my bed, last night's conversation with my dad swimming through my head. Peeking at my bedside clock, I saw that it was six o'clock. Barely morning. On any other summer day, I would be dead asleep at this time, not even stirring until ten a.m.

Making my way back into the kitchen, I squinted at the sunshine beginning to peek through the windows. It was already blistering hot; I wasn't sure how much more of the heat I could stand.

The Contact drawer mocked my entrance. I had closed it firmly when I left last night, but here it was this morning, pulled open only half an inch. If I had been in a hurry or had not seen it in last night's conditions, I wouldn't have noticed anything unusual. But that half an inch screamed for my attention.

There _had_ been someone in my house. They _had_ taken our phone numbers.

And they had come back.

My curiosity stronger than my fear, I crept over to the drawer and yanked it open. Laying on top of all the rubbish, perfectly centered, was Mom's contact book. It was in the same condition as when I had last seen it, there didn't seem to be any ripped pages or bent corners. But sitting on top of the book was a clean, manila note, with the words WE SHOULD TALK written in print across it.

My jaw dropped. Whoever had done this _wanted_ me to see that the book was missing. They _wanted_ me to notice.

But notice what?

I grabbed the book and sat down at the kitchen table. Maybe, if they wanted to talk to me, they would have bookmarked or circled their name in the planner. Maybe they were a relative or coworker that knew something about my mom.

I tried to keep this optimism as I flipped through page after page of names. There were so many. David Adamson, Kristen Gregory, Bill and Laura Myers, Tony Smith, Kelly Williams. They all had associations attached to them – family, friend, coworker, old classmate – but none had any circles or highlights around them. Some had been crossed out while others had been erased and rewritten, with new addresses or different numbers, but none looked newly added.

As my search came to an end, I thought of another idea.

Mrs. Newton.

Edward.

If Mom had said their names, then they might possibly be in her contacts. If they were, I could call them, and perhaps they could explain why my mother was screaming over them yesterday.

I turned the N's, but was sadly disappointed. The only people with the last name of N were Betty Noles, my old babysitter, and Craig Nugget, Dad's old boss.

Edward was going to be harder to find, seeing as how Mom never threw out a last name.

I started from the front and worked my way through once more. When I hit Katie Ziedan, I knew the attempt was useless. There was not one person named Edward in the book. Not one single person. I'd run across four Matt's, six Elizabeth's, and two Ricardo's, but not one lousy Edward. Not even an Ed!

What now? If my amiable thief-friend wanted to speak to me so badly, why weren't they making it a bit easier to do so?

* * *

I hated hospitals. The smell of disinfectant and human fluids seemed to take root in your nose and penetrated your senses, the white walls blinded me, and all the patients peeking out at you from their beds creeped me out.

I had gotten my mom's room number at the nurse's station and was now down the fifth floor to her room. I tried not to breathe and kept my focus straight ahead. Doing my best not to start running, I made it to Room 553 – my mother's – and pushed open the door.

She was in a room by herself. I saw my dad sleeping on the spare bed, his snores loud, but not obnoxious. I could see the bags under his eyes from my place by the door and assumed it was only a short while ago that he had drifted off.

"Jacob?"

My head swiveled to my mother. She had her back propped up against several pillows, and was staring at me.

"Dad's asleep, Mom." I walked over to her bed, placing my hands on the bedrail.

"Jake, why do you keep following me?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Mom, I'm Riley. Dad's Jacob, remember?"

"Jacob, you need to leave. I don't know how you stayed safe at the store, but Edward is sure to be here any minute now."

I let out an exasperated sigh. "Who's Edward, Mom?"

I could see the tension in my mother begin to rise. She was working up for another fit, and I knew I wasn't helping by asking questions, but the sudden need to know this Edward man was too powerful to resist.

"Please don't play stupid, Jake."

"Mom, I'm not!"

"Where's Charlie? And why isn't Carlisle my doctor? And who is that strange man in the bed next to me, Jake? He looks like you… Is he one of the Quileute men I haven't met before?"

"What is Quileute? Mom, you're starting to scare me."

Abruptly, my father's snoring ceased, and he sat up. Taking in Mom's harried expression and my fear, he quickly got up and pushed me out of the room.

"You can't talk to her right now, Riley."

I took a long look at my father. His blue Oxford shirt was wrinkled and his slacks weren't in any better condition. I regarded his unshaven face and sunken eyes with concern.

"Dad, you look terrible. If you want, you can go home and catch up on some sleep while I stay here with Mom."

Dad swept the offer aside. "Listen to me, Riley. I can't have you around your mother right now."

I froze in mid-sentence. "What?"

My dad ran a hand through his short black hair. His normal grin was nowhere to be seen on his face at the moment, which shook me. My dad had a permanent smile that my mom said was her favorite feature on him. "Riley, they doctor said that your mother is experiencing some short term memory loss. They are waiting for the MRI and CAT scans to return before they diagnose her with any head trauma, but they told me her symptoms resemble someone who's suffered damage to their amygdale."

"Memory loss? Like, she can't remember where she's at right now?"

"That's exactly what it is like."

"That still doesn't explain why I can't visit her," I pouted, crossing my arms in defiance.

Dad gave me the, are you an idiot, expression, meaning I should already have picked up on the answer. "Riley, you're mother believes that she seventeen again. She has no recollection of being married, much less having a sixteen year old son."

"So is that why she was calling me by your name?"

My dad threw a sharp look at me. "She called you Jacob?"

I blushed, feeling as if I'd gotten caught with my hand in the cookie jar. "Yeah, she kept asking why I was following her."

Putting both hands firmly on my shoulders, my dad asked gruffly, "What else did she say?"

I was thrown off. I wasn't expecting my dad to become so serious. "Uh- she asked who you were. She said something about you being some Quileute thing. And she mentioned that Edward guy again."

"Anything else?"

I thought for a long moment. "One more thing. She asked why Dr. Carlisle wasn't treating her."

My dad's hands clenched tighter onto my shoulders. I could see the anger and frustration hiding behind his eyes. I knew he wanted to yell at me, release his pent-up fear and annoyance on me. I knew a thousand thoughts were flying through his mind at the moment, and I knew he was terrified of what more troubles I'd bring to him.

"Listen, Dad, don't worry," I tried to calm him. "I can see that my resemblance to you is upsetting her. I promise I'll leave her alone."

My dad's face let go of some unknown tension. I sensed that whatever my father had been preparing for was suddenly gone for the moment. A second longer and my dad's hands dropped down to his sides.

"Thank you, Riley. I appreciate it."

I didn't see much more use in my being there. I couldn't see my mom, and I certainly couldn't sit in the lobby, being suffocated by the hospital walls, so I said goodbye to my father and left.

* * *

I knew they'd been back again.

I stepped inside the kitchen, and this time it was the magnets on the refrigerator that had been altered. When I had left, they were all placed in random spots along the metal door. The Mickey Mouse one was holding a DVD rental receipt, while the Eiffel Tower clasped a recent picture of Dad and me fishing. Now, however, those things were sitting on the countertop. The Eiffel Tower was to the right of the New York one, and beneath that was Mickey, a penguin, a look, and Minnie the Mouse, all in single file line. To the right of Minnie were cherry red lips, and next to it, a dog.

They were all placed neatly together, forming the letter C.

They were giving me a hint.

Quickly, I scrambled to the table where the planner was still laying. I flipped to the C's and looked for any new changes.

There were none.

I wasn't about to give up so fast this time, though. Obviously, the person had spelled C for a reason. They were somewhere in this list.

I looked at each one.

Diane Carlson – used to work at the library with Mom she had her twin boys.

Tucker Christian – one of Dad's old poker buddies.

Samantha Cindred – the woman Mom paid to clean the house in the springtime.

The list seemed to go on forever. There were quite a few people I knew, but also a great deal that I did not. Any number of them could be my mysterious new friend.

I reached the end. Luis Cwenski.

Not one thing among these names jumped out at me. Nothing screamed, "I'm your man!" How was I supposed to figure out who this person was when they couldn't even be bothered to put a star by their name?

Pressure in my bladder made abandon my search and go to the bathroom. When I returned, I almost screamed in shock. The letters on the fridge had changed again. They were here. Right now. They were watching me, waiting for me.

I shivered in spite of the heat. This time the magnets formed a U.

_All right,_ I thought to myself. _You're last name starts with a CU._

I went back over to the planner. I had left the planner on Cwenski, but it was now turned to Cristophers.

My fingers began to shake. Someone desperately wanted to talk to me. Either they were a very sick person, or they had some really important news.

I traveled down the names and came to two options.

_Alice Cullen._

_Jeffery Cumble. _

I knew neither of them. It could be either. Alice didn't sound very intimidating, but neither did somebody with the last name Cumble.

I stared at the two for a long time, at a complete loss. Then, just as I was about to give up, I noticed something miniscule in the left hand margin. Peering closer, I saw that next to one of the names there was a petite red dot.

They'd left me a sign.

Not a very big one, but a sign nonetheless.

"All right, then," I picked my cell phone out of my pants and punched in the number. "Let's talk, Ms. Cullen."


End file.
